Sweet hat. Is it warm enough for you to still be wearing it, my man? I ask Airborne man. Look at the trees around you, so full of life. The breeze must be blowing warmly, sweetly. Sucks about the brown grass, though, right? A sign of a long winter, it appears. I’m not sure, though, you tell me.

It seems like it’s warm enough for a game of Frisbee. But for how long? I notice peeks of the golden hour creeping into this scene. Soon you won’t be able to see where your sweet wrist flick will send your disc, my bud. There’s so much I don’t understand about you Airborne man. You’re a riddle, trapped in a cover, wrapped around a stone-cold Scandinavian Balearic masterpiece, made by a Swedish prog jazz muso. Stop me, if you’ve heard this story before.

Is it warm enough to unwind to the tropical, blissed-out, slightly dubby groove of “Winterhawk”? Were you feeling the meditative vibes of Coste Apetrea’s covers of Milton Nascimento’s “Ponta De Areira” and Fleetwood Mac’s “Albatross” as you rolled up one of your sleeves and snuck in some cool refreshment? How about that sweet whale sound opening “Whales”? Pretty chill, right?

Phew, how about that languid b-side? “Alicante” and “Morgonmunkar” (trippy name, befitting a lost ECM gem, right?) surely can soundtrack your next bonfire at the beach? Will it be warm enough to sneak out to the dunes that late? You tell me, Airborne man. Nah, better yet, don’t tell me anything. It’s time to take out this album and play it on some ersatz bluetooth boombox. It’s Frisbee weather, and man, Airborne man, we got ourselves a perfect soundtrack for a perfect day – out in Sweden somewhere – mildly warmer than the month before. Here’s that feeling once again…